


charmolypi

by LottaEstev



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottaEstev/pseuds/LottaEstev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She sighs but instantly has to smile herself because his smile is just so damn contagious. Lights seem a little brighter, sounds a little louder, visions a little clearer." JaneXLisbon; set somewhere season 5</p>
            </blockquote>





	charmolypi

charmolypi (χαρμολύπη)  
(n.) “joy-making sorrow”; a mixed feeling of happiness while being sad; regret and repentance of past wrongs that simultaneously fill us with hope and the light of forgiveness  
|Greek|

He sways into the room, making her eyes burn. His suit a little crinkled from yet another night spent on the leather couch in the office. Probably not even sleeping but more drifting in and out of consciousness between developing theory after theory about the serial killer that has been chasing him in his dreams for the better part of the last decade now and who has lately made appearances in her dreams, too. And she's come to hate the killer for taking him away, stealing him out of her life bit by bit.

His hands are wrapped around a fresh cup of tea, which still seems too hot to drink, judging from the steam that is hovering in the air above the ceramic mug.

A smile is playing on his lips. “Good morning,” he murmurs. The farewell is spoken so silently, you could have missed it, if you weren't paying any attention. (Oh, she is always paying close attention to his lips any way. Not that it matters.) Others might think him rude for this mumbled greeting. Not her, though. No.

She knows him better than most people. Sees behind his masquerade. So she just smiles back at him. “Hey.” He nods to her desk. “Work?” She is aware of the fact that he isn't simply asking if she has any work to do. “The usual,” she replies, gently shrugging her shoulders. “you know.” “Yeah, the usual,” he echoes, moving further into the room, gently putting his cup down on her desk. He looks as though he is a million miles away.

The morning sunlight, that shines through the windows into her office, casts him in a glow, making his blond curls seem a touch lighter, a day's worth of stubble on his chin. His eyes are framed by slightly dark rings. Another indication that most of the night went by with him awake. She really doesn't like to see him like this. He not only looks tired and really worn out, there's also a sense of a heavier, greater dejection almost brokenness, that surrounds him. (Once again she feels the anger rise inside of her.)

When he turns around, his hands are balled into fists and she can see the pain in his eyes, even though he is trying so hard to hide it. But who is he trying to kid? She's known him for years now. It's not as though she could read him the way he can read her but she allows herself to think that she can tell when he's fighting with himself. Mostly, because he is doing that a great amount of the time he spends awake. Come to think of it, judging by the dark circles beneath his eyes and his huge yawns every now and then he is struggling with his demons at night, too. 

For the umpteenth time since she knows him she finds herself wishing she could take at least some of his pain away. She's never known anyone who was more deserving of a break than him. At the same time, she's also never known anyone who thought of himself as the least worthy person to walk this earth.

She is just about to ask him if he is alright when his features light up with another one of his trademark smirks. (One of those gorgeous smiles that give him a touch of that boyish charm.) Oh, he is putting that on in a precautionary move to stop her from making him talk about it and face his demons. She sighs but instantly has to smile herself because his smile is just so damn contagious. Lights seem a little brighter, sounds a little louder, visions a little clearer.

She really ought to stop staring at him just for the pure pleasure of it. But he's so... she can't even describe what it is, that makes him so fascinating. He is nothing like the other guys she ever felt even remotely attracted to. He is secretive, manipulative, arrogant. But at the same time kind, sensitive and even sensible. Like the two sides of a coin. She will never know all of him. No-one will.

But maybe it's exactly that, that has her oh so drawn to him. That he is different. He is the darkness, when she is the light. He is silent, when people scream at the top of their lungs. He smiles when people frown. He stays calm when the world buzzes with electric motion. He listens to his own tunes, she grew up to the soft melody of an orchestra. He keeps her world the right side up.

So instead of asking him, she offers him a smile in return, thinking that when he's with her, she can at least make sure that he isn't off to chase his enemy all on his own. Thinking or talking herself into believing she is part of the reason why he hasn't yet thrown all caution to the wind and gone hunting him down. She likes to think it's because he doesn't want to lose... this, them.

:fin:


End file.
